


what's hidden beneath the heart upon my sleeve

by alyzeryn



Series: sapphires in cobalt blue [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Female Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Injuries, Non-Linear Narrative, One Shot Collection, Pre-Relationship, Shitty Dads Abound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyzeryn/pseuds/alyzeryn
Summary: A collection of BeauJester one-shots connected to 'maps upon my skin (and they all lead me back to you).' Most of them will be during the relationship, but a few will be pre-relationship.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Series: sapphires in cobalt blue [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604920
Comments: 1
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

_“Do you think she’ll like me?”_

_“You’ve already met my mom, Beau.”_

_“Yeah, but this time’s it’s different, y’know?”_

_“Don’t worry.” Jester had looked back at her with a vibrant smile, the tips of her fangs poking out from her lip. “It’ll be fine.”_

It was _not_ fine.

Or at least Beau thought that. She had no idea what Marion was thinking, eyeing her over the rim of her teacup with an expression that gave away absolutely nothing. It was the kind of look she got when she was younger from her parents, teachers, pretty much anyone in authority over her before she was whisked away by the Cobalt Soul. It made her fidget in her seat, pick at her fingernails, grab at her teacup and then put it down when she realized her hand shook too much for her to actually drink it. In a words, it made her _nervous_.

Beau honestly couldn’t remember the last time she had been nervous like this. She had faced down queens and kings, evil sorcerers, monsters in human skin, even two - not one, _two_ \- dragons. Yet nothing set her heart pounding, sent her into a cold sweat, or made her want to jump out of the nearest window quite like the way Marion Lavorre’s golden eyes narrowed at her with every tense movement.

They tore through every mental and emotional barrier Beau had set up before this moment, picking away with precise movements that left Beau wide open. It reminded her of when she had started at the Cobalt Soul, surrounded by students older than her and needled into turning one way so someone could close in on her flank and jab her in the ribs. Not enough to take her down, but enough to anger her. And it went on like that, again and again until she had been breathing heavily and covered in bruises and so tired.

This time, though, she couldn’t fight back. She could only sit there and let her soul be unfolded and examined and picked apart.

She kept her mouth clamped shut, biting the inside of her cheek until it nearly bled, as Marion slowly finished her tea. The only sounds in the room were her faint slurping, the clinking of her cup against the saucer when she finally set it down, the cry of gulls by the shore, and, if Beau focused, the incomprehensible murmuring of her friends down the hall in Jester’s old room.

 _Gods_ , she wished she was with them.

But she had promised Jester that she’d do this. Although Beau’s relationship with her parents was… nonexistent, pretty much, Marion was so much more than just Jester’s mom. She was her best friend. And Jester wanted to make sure Marion liked her.

Hell, Beau wanted Marion to like her. It was a new feeling, _wanting_ to be liked. She usually just let her attitude drive people away, and whoever stayed didn’t stay long. Beau was used to that, didn’t really want to change it either. But Jester? Beau wanted her to stay. She didn’t know if that was for _forever_ ; Beau knew her line of work didn’t really take forever into consideration. But she wanted Jester by her side long enough to make ‘forever’ seem possible.

Thus, sitting across from Marion and trying to act as normal as possible while everything in her screamed at her to run while she still could.

Marion, the most beautiful woman with the potential to ruin her love-life and life-life that Beau had ever met, leaned back in her chair.

“Beauregard,” she said, and Beau had a brief moment of panicked O _hshitOhfuckSheusedmyfullnameI’mdoomed_ before Marion reached over and gingerly stilled Beau’s bouncing leg with a gentle hand and a gentler smile.

“Beauregard, please calm down.”

 _I literally cannot_.

And she was sure Marion already knew that. With how many people she had come across in her life, she could probably see all-consuming nerves and genuine terror from a mile away. Beau tried, though. Took a deep breath and tried to remember everything Odina had ever taught her about letting go and finding that stillness deep within her, letting it travel throughout her body and let her sink into that comforting silence.

When Beau came back to herself, Marion was smiling.

“You really care about my Little Sapphire, don’t you?”

It was that question that broke the dam in Beau’s heart. She had promised herself that she’d be professional, not distant but not so caught up that Marion got suspicious. She’d answer any questions Marion sent her way honestly and earnestly and nothing more. But that question…

“I mean, yeah,” Beau replied, voice shaking and growing stronger with each word that came out of her mouth. “Fuck yeah. How can I not? She’s, like, she’s…”

How could Beau describe Jester with one word?

How could she pin down the way her heart flipped in her chest when Jester looked back at her and smiled with wild abandon, the only way someone hyped up on pure joy and a hint of adrenaline could?

How could she define the late nights in the Xhorhaus when Jester let Beau see beyond her walls, beyond the smile so large Jester tried to hide behind it when everyone else was falling apart? When Jester would bite down on her hand to muffle her sobs but let Beau tuck her against her chest and hold her until dawn?

How could she even begin to describe each brush of their hands, each hug that meant so much more, each soft kiss that broke down into giggles?

Even Jester’s righteous anger when they were in fights had Beau’s heart racing in a way nothing else had ever made happen.

How could she put that in a way Marion _understood_?

Unconsciously, her hand circled her wrist beneath her sleeve. That morning, Beau and Jester had woken up before anyone, Jester demanding that Beau see the sunrise in Nicodranas once, _because Oh my gosh, Beau! It’s the most beautiful sunrise ever! Like I’ve seen a few sunrises but on the beach? Nothing’s better than that, not even pastries or unicorns or the Trav-… Well, okay, the Traveler is a bit cooler but not by much, but don’t tell him I said that, okay?_

And while Beau had sat by the window, half-asleep and held up by her arm perched on the ledge alone, Jester had quietly gotten out her non-magical paints. It was only when Beau felt cold paint on her wrist that she had actually noticed. Sitting as still as possible, she let Jester paint with that same sparkly gold paint Beau loved so much (and vowed to buy more the first chance she got).

It was a swirling, nonsensical design that started tight around Beau’s wrist and then loosened into a fragile, golden filigree arcing up and around her forearm. Briefly, Beau had considered getting it tattooed on herself. She was still considering it.

Except when Marion moved her hand from Beau’s knee to her wrist, gingerly uncurling her own fingers and pushing the sleeve away so she could see the piece in its entirety. At that point, Beau wanted nothing for it to melt into her skin, vanish from everywhere except her memories and her heart.

But Marion smiled. And it was so soft and loving and _tender_ that _Beau_ wanted to vanish.

“She’s quite the artist, my Jester is.” Pulling away, she unwrapped the shawl from around her shoulders, folded it into her lap, and pulled down the sleeves of her dress until Beau could see the lines across her rich, red skin.

Her collarbone and shoulders was a canvas of artwork in beautiful, shimmering blues and greens and purples and, here and there, flecks of gold. Beau followed every dip and curve with her mouth wide open. Her eyes dragged over the maesltrom raging upon Marion’s shoulder and traced down one of the arms to the edge of the coast that started just above her breast and vanished into the collar of her dress. Curving up onto the other shoulder, constellations freckled along her skin, guiding a wayward boat etched above her heart back home.

Back to Marion.

“Is that from, uh…?”

Shaking her head, Marion laughed. “No. I was never Babenon’s soulmate, but I made him mine long ago. And I do not regret it.” She fixed her dress but left her shawl on her lap, letting Beau see that the tattoo extended down to her wrists and the backs of her hands. Underneath it, she could vaguely see something that looked like a _B_ - _a-b_ before it’s hidden by her sleeve.

“Beau,” and Beau’s head snaps up to meet Marion’s eyes.

Gone was the glare of a concerned mother. She was not quite sure what took its place, but it was comforting in a way Beau was sure a mother should be.

“Beau, I’m not going to tell you that Jester deserves better than you,” she said plainly. “And I’m not going to try and convince you to leave her. You clearly love her, probably more than I can imagine judging by how nervous you were earlier.

“All I ask is that you take care of my daughter, help her when s he needs it. She is a grown woman who can take care of her body, yes. But her heart…” Marion sighed, and the weight of more than twenty years settled heavily on her shoulders. “She has spent so long in the walls of the chateau that I worry she doesn’t fully understand the pain the world will bring down upon such a vibrant soul like hers.”

Beau though of the Iron Shepherds, of Molly, of Yasha and Obann and the Laughing Hand, of every failure that had beaten the Mighty Nein down further and further until they felt like they could barely stand. And she thought of Jester, every tear, every crack in her joyful facade, every instance of burning anger and cold emptiness and painful confusion. “I’m pretty sure she understands plenty. She’s seen a lot and is pretty resilient.”

The corners of Marion’s mouth ticked upward, but the sadness in her face was quick to choke it. “Perhaps. That will not stop a mother from worrying, though. After all, I’m pretty sure she learned how to hide behind a smile from me. Or for me. It’s hard to tell the difference some days.”

Before Beau could respond, reassure Marion that she was the best fucking mom Beau had ever seen and that she did the best she could considering her circumstances, Marion shook it off and shot Beau a smile that was all too familiar.

_Hiding behind a smile, she said?_

Beau didn’t point it out. That was a conversation for another day and for someone better at that than she was.

For now, she could relax in the knowledge that she had “passed” whatever test Marion had laid out for her. And she did it by being herself, the self that was so in love with Jester Beau was overwhelmed by it sometimes.

And that’s what Marion had wanted to see, right? Someone flawed but honest , someone true, who loved Jester for Jester?

Beau could be that person.

She already was.

“So, Beau,” Marion began, tucking her feet underneath her and relaxing onto her chair, “why don’t you tell me about these marks of yours? When did they first start?”

 _That_ was something Beau was an expert on. Lounging back in her chair and drinking her lukewarm tea, Beau grinned.

“Well, they first showed up when I was four…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the meeting at Lionett estate (minor spoilers for ep 92)

Jester tromped down the stairs and slumped into the first open chair she saw. She leaned onto Caleb’s shoulder, burying her face into his coat with a groan. She felt more than saw his arm move as if to wrap around her before dropping back into the table.

“Everything okay, Jester?” Cadueceus asked from somewhere across from her.

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jester wanted to say no. It was between her and Beau. Besides, if she couldn’t figure out what to say to her girlfriend, to comfort her, then what kind of girlfriend was she? But the truth was that Jester wasn’t sure what it was she didn’t want to talk about. Was it Beau locking herself in their room, refusing to talk to anyone, even Jester, on the way to the tavern? Was it the meeting with Beau’s family? Was it what she had told Beau earlier, about forgiving her father? Despite Jester being seen as one of the more naive of the Might Nein, she knew she had said the wrong thing as soon as the open vulnerable expression on Beau’s face had been hidden away behind a false veneer of bravado.

“I don’t know, Cadueceus.”

He hummed knowingly, paused to slurp at his drink, and then said, “Well, I guess I’ll be heading off to bed then. Caleb, do you mind staying up with Jester?”

“Nein, I do not mind,” he replied softly, and now his arm moved slightly so Jester’s face was pressed more into his chest and his arm hovered almost awkwardly behind her as he leaned back against the wall. His other hand pulled out something fluttering - oh, a book - as Caduceus bade them goodnight and headed off upstairs.

For a few moments, all Jester could hear was the sounds of the bar, Caleb flipping through his book, and the sound of his deep, steady breathing.

And they grated on her ears, digging into her mind and shredding apart the bits of peace she could barely hold onto.

Slowly, the sounds began to transform. The clinking of a mug against the bar was the sound of Thoreau Lionett putting his mug down to fill it once again. The faint drone of conversation was the muted words of the household servants preparing for dinner. If Jester was honest with herself, the barmaid kind of sounded like Beau’s mom, didn’t she? They had left Lionett Estate hours ago, but it still hovered over her. The tension in the room and the mistakes she had made reaching down her throat and squeezing her heart until it threatened to burst. And every breath Jester took made it tighten more and more and more and _more and-_

“Jester? Jester, you need to breathe.”

And then there was Caleb, framed by grey stone instead of petrified wood. His hands were on her shoulders, pushing her away from him, giving her space, keeping her grounded at the world tilted back into it’s usual chaos.

Jester exhaled. “Sorry, Caleb,” she said, shaky and eyes stinging. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, none of that.” He had tucked his book away and turned to face her. His hands, delicate but firm, gently squeezed her shoulders. “Just breathe for a bit, _singvogel_. You look blue. Uh, bluer than usual, I suppose. You know you do not have to apologize for that, _ja_?”

His face was so earnest. A few hours ago, Jester would have cracked a joke, poked his nose, done something to break that serious expression on his face.

But she was so tired.

“Caleb, I think I messed up.”

“I think a lot of us did, Jester.” He slowly released her shoulders and leaned back in his seat. “None of us knew what we were walking into. I do not think we could have said anything to have made the situation better.”

“Yeah, but I _really_ messed up, Caleb.”

“How so?”

She bit her lip and wrung her hands, stalling. Hoping Caleb would do what he always used to do, fill up awkward silences with enough chatter so she had something to deflect on. But he only watched her patiently, his pale eyes slowly chipping away at the weak walls Jester had lashed together to keep everything in place.

When had her friends gotten so good at tearing them down? Why hadn’t she noticed them seeing beyond them?

That was another question for much, _much_ later.

“I told Beau to forgive her dad.”

It made sense to her. _Had_ made sense to her. Distant fathers she hadn’t seen in a long time (or ever)? That was Jester’s thing! She knew what it was like to have a father just toss her aside, and she had manged to forgive him easily. Everything had turned out great, so why couldn’t that happen with Beau and her dad, right?

“Right?”

But Caleb only sighed, a familiar look in his eyes that had Jester’s small hope sinking like a stone.

“I… do not think that that may have been the best thing to say.”

“But it’s her dad!”

“Not everyone’s father is worthy of forgiveness, Jester,” he told her without malice. “And I think Mister Lionett is particularly close to that category of father’s.”

“I forgave my dad.”

“That is because your heart is larger than most, Blueberry. And your situation is… very different than Beau’s.”

And Jester was sure she knew that. But she didn’t know what to do about it, and Jester didn’t like mot knowing what to do. She always had a joke or a trick or something to say that could _help_ , even if it didn’t _fix_ the problem, but nothing she said this time fully broke through the sorrow and anger percolating behind the coldness in Beau’s eyes.

“What do I do, Caleb? I’m so confused.”

“We all are.” He patted her hand and gave her a comforting smile. “But I think the best thing to do in this situation would be to listen to Beau. Do not make jokes or try to convince her to do anything she may not want to do. Just listen.”

“But-”

She didn’t know how. That was what she had wanted to say when Caleb had told her, but then Nott had called him, looking concerned and a little afraid, and Caleb had gone to her side after giving Jester an awkward side-hug and urging her one last time to talk to Beau, leaving Jester at the table alone, even more confused than she was earlier.

She wished Caduceus would come back downstairs. Or maybe Nott. They were better at this than her or Caleb, whatever _this_ was. And they came from families that had parents that didn’t run off before you were born or send you away when you became too much for them. Jester didn’t know what that was like.

 _Maybe that’s why I messed up,_ she thought, glancing up the stairs where Beau had disappeared. She wanted to follow her, hold onto her, ask her what she did wrong and how she could make it better. Jester was pretty sure Beau didn’t exactly know what she did wrong either, only that it was wrong. She didn’t even know if Beau wanted to see her and didn’t want to make her if she didn’t.

With a huff, Jester slumped down on the table.

The clink of glass in her bag caught her attention. Picking herself up, she fished through her bag until she found a jar of red paint, mostly empty. There was a nick in the glass near the top. She’d need to replace it soon before it broke completely. Jester reached back into the bag for a piece of cloth or something she could wrap it in until she had a new jar when her fingertips alighted on a paintbrush. She pulled that out too and put it on the table next to the paint.

Now Jester was many things, but stupid was not one of them. She knew a sign, an opportunity, when she saw one. So she unscrewed the top of the paint, dipped the tip of the brush into the dark red, and went to painting on her arms.

First it was a small heart in the valley between her knuckles of her pointer and middle finger. Then a line connected that heart to a rose on the back of her hand that stretched down onto the back of her wrist. When that didn’t get a response, she kept painting, letting the brush flow freely and drawing flowing, nonsensical patterns across every bit of bare skin she could find.

It was as she was looping her way around her forearm that Beau finally responded by connecting each pair of loops until Jester had a bracelet of dicks on her arm.

With a watery smile, she painted an arrow towards it. ‘ _Good one.’_

_Thanks._

A few more minutes passed where Jester kept going to paint, then pausing, then retreating, then starting the cycle all over again before, _‘Can I come up?’_

_Please._

Jester stuffed her supplies back into her bag, ignoring the muffled shattering of glass, and ran up to her and Beau’s room. She didn’t wait for Beau’s ‘Come in’ before barging into the room.

The first thing she noticed was the darkness. The candle had been blown out but the window was open, and the muted moonlight behind the storm clouds struggled to illuminate the room. Occasionally, a flash of lightning splashed the room in stark white, vanishing almost just as quickly.

The second thing she noticed, Beau. Hunched over by the window, her hands bracing herself against the sill. She had stripped down to her pants alone, and ice cold rain streaked down her bare skin, plastering her hair to her face.

The third thing Jester noticed, and she wished she hadn’t, was the sharp tang of blood on the air that had become more familiar to her over the months. The wall by the window had a dent in it, and some of the splintered wood was freckled with it.

Beau’s knuckles were stained the same color.

“Beau?”

When she glanced back at Jester, she couldn’t tell what on Beau’s face was rain and what were tears.

Slowly, her footsteps quieter than they had ever been, Jester moved forward and made to rest her hand on Beau’s hand but stopped. “Is it okay- um, can I-?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Carefully, she rested her hands over Beau’s and let the warmth of her healing magic flow down her arm and into Beau’s shattered knuckles. She felt as bones knit beneath the split skin and then the skin knit over, but a smattering of starburst stars lingered after she pulled away, magic sparking and traveling briefly between where their hands had touched before dissipating into the darkness.

“Thanks.”

And then Beau brushed passed her, and Jester ached.

So many words, so many different things she could say, lingered on her tongue and crowded her mind until it was just static. But Jester needed to say _something_ , anything that could bridge the impossibly deep gulf that had suddenly appeared between them

Her mouth moved before her brain could catch up.

“I’m sorry.”

Beau, half dressed and looking like she wanted to be anywhere but there, opened her mouth to say something. To brush her off or maybe even break down and actually talk about what was bothering her.

Jester refused to give her the chance to. Jumping up, she moved towards a frozen Beau, took her free hand, and kissed the spot where she had healed. She heard Beau’s breath catch in her throat, trip over the sobs lodged there, and she moved on the the next scar, and the next, and the next. Her lips mapped a path from Beau’s hand, down her wrist, up her arm, lingering on her shoulder as Beau wrapped her other arm around her back and pulled her close. Jester pushed up onto her tip toes to press a kiss to Beau’s cheek, where she imagined she could still feel the heat of Beau’s tears from earlier.

Or maybe it was from the tears she could taste now, salty against her lips.

When she pulled away, Beau’s eyes were rimmed with red, swollen, and glistening with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Jester said again. “I didn’t understand, and I still kind of don’t but I want to.”

“It’s not your fault, Jes,” muttered Beau. Her voice was hoarse, raw. “You didn’t-… It’s-”

“It’s not fine, Beau.” She reached up and cupped Beau’s face, and Beau just fell into her touch, face screwed up with sorrow and a deeply rooted pain Jester could only imagine. “You’re hurting. And I don’t know what I can do to make it better. But I want to help you. If you tell me what’s happening, maybe I can.”

“You can’t fix this one. No one can.”

Beau pulled away from her, and Jester almost leapt forward, wrapped her arm around Beau and refused to let go. But Beau still held her hand and tugged her along towards the bed. She sat on the edge, dragged Jester forward until she stood between her legs, and wrapped her arms around her. Beau tucked her chin against her soft hip and stared up into Jester’s eyes. Her lip wobbled as Jester delicately cupped the side of her face and neck with one hand and, with the other, pulled her hair tie out until her hair fell down her back and shoulders. Her clawed hands dragged through the wet, knotted hair, and Beau’s fell against her with a shudder, hiding her face in Jester’s skirt.

“How can someone fix a shitty ass dad who gets rid of his kid as soon as she’s inconvenient to him?” asked Beau, voice muffled by fabric and the pounding of rain. “Or a mom who won’t stand up to him? Or parents who’ll replace you as soon as you’re gone, hoping that the next kid’ll be better?

“How can I forgive parents who can do that to their kid who just wanted their attention?

“How can someone fix a screwed up kid who doesn’t even know if it’s her fault?”

A hundred things sprang to Jester’s lips - reassurances that Beau has never been and never would be a screw up, promises to make sure her dad never had another peaceful day ever, a joke that maybe TJ would be just like Beau and be better for it - but they all scattered when she felt Beau shuddering, sobbing, against her. So she just let her hands run over Beau’s bare shoulders and back and tangle in her hair.

Jester didn’t really know what to do. She thought forgiving Beau’s dad would help - it had helped her with her own dad - but…

Truthfully, Jester had never known the Gentleman, not really. She had heard about him from her mom, imagined what he’d be like. But that was it. He had never looked her in the eye and then abandoned her when she became too much, sold her off in his hopes to make her better. He hadn’t backhanded her across the face the day he left. He hadn’t tried to pretend he had had her best interests at heart.

Thoreau had, though.

“Beau,” Jester began, “you don’t have to forgive your dad.”

She didn’t know if it was a laugh or a sob that shook Beau’s frame. She hoped it was the former.

“I mean it. I- I didn’t know all the shitty things your dad did, and I thought that maybe if you forgave him then everything would be okay and you’d all get to be happy again. But he hurt you really badly, and I don’t know how any dad can look at his kid and send them away. And you’re still hurting from that, and that’s okay. You’re allowed to hurt and be angry and be sad.”

With tender hands, she lifted Beau’s head and met those sad angry confused eyes with a soft smile.

“Dads are supposed to love you no matter what you do, not get rid of you for being a kid. So everything that happened? Totally his fault, not yours. You don’t ever have to forgive him for that.

“But I don’t want to see you so sad anymore,” she continued. Her thumb brushed over Beau’s cheek, and Beau leaned into her touch. “You can be sad, but I want to help you be happier so that one day you can look back at what happened and be like ‘Yeah, my dad’s so shitty but I’m better now without him. Besides, I have great friends and an awesome girlfriend who like me so he can suck it.’”

Now it was definitely a laugh. Even with tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, Beau was the most beautiful person Jester had ever seen.

“You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to. You can talk to Caduceus or maybe Fjord or anyone else if you don’t want to talk to me. I just want you to feel better.”

Her last few words hitched as Beau took her hand and kissed her wrist, feather-light and lips dragging over her pulse.

“I’m already feeling better just having you here, Jes.”

“That’s because I’m awesome.” She leaned forward until her forehead touched Beau’s, and their breath mingled in the scant inched between them. “But you’re not always going to be okay, and that’s okay. Just let me know what I can do to help, and I will. Yeah?”

One of Beau’s hands slid behind her neck and dragged Jester down until her mouth was against hers in a kiss Jester didn’t recognize.

Most of their kisses had been playful, ending with Jester giggling and Beau smiling ridiculously before diving back in. One had been heated, passionate, hands wandering and teeth dragging against skin; and Jester had pulled away not long after, unsure, and Beau had let her with a soft smile. Each time, Jester had _known_ where Beau was, what urged her on.

This? This was slow, languid and wet and just content. It sent a comfortable warmth throughout her body that had Jester melting against her. Beau nipped at her bottom lip and sighed into Jester’s open mouth, and Jester’s tongue teased lightly against Beau’s with no expectation of going further than that. It was undemanding, satisfied with a slow give and take. It let the world fade away around them until Jester wasn’t sure if they had been kissing for minutes or days.

And when Beau pulled away, lips parted and smiling, Jester couldn’t help but smile back.

“I can do that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was... not easy to write. As someone with a less than ideal relationship with their father (though not to the extent of Beau's, I think), ep 92 hit a little too close to home. But I knew I had to write something for it, especially with Jester urging Beau to forgive her dad. THAT rubbed me the wrong way, and so this chapter was born.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her shoulders were high, her ears drooping lower than they had ever been, and her eyes fixed firmly on where her nail was gradually digging a hole in the table. Whatever Nott was saying seemed to go around her hunched form; Jester barely moved, barely acknowledged that her friends were around her at all.
> 
> And it broke Beau’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in The Evening Nip after the less-than-stellar confrontation with The Gentleman and his connection to Jester in ep 85

_I’m such a fucking idiot._

Beau slammed her head onto the bar, rattling the still-full shots line in front of her, and didn’t get up. It was better then looking up and seeing the trash fire she had sent rolling into the bar in the form of Nott the Brave. She barely resisted the urge to reach up and cover her ears when she heard Nott behind her, talking casually - and Beau used that term generously - with Fjord and-

-and _Jester._

What was Beau thinking, telling Nott all about her stupid crush? She should have just shouted it from the top of the Evening Nip; that would’ve been less obvious.

Beau didn’t even know if she wanted it to be obvious, if she were being honest with herself. Yeah, she liked Jester, for all the reasons she told Nott and so many more, but that was it. She’d liked plenty of people in the past and done nothing about it. The world was full of beautiful women; that didn’t mean Beau had to go chasing after them like some kind of creeper. She was better than that, better than trying to go after who she was now sure was her best friend when Beau didn’t even know what Jester liked. When she didn’t even know if Jester knew what Jester liked.

But that was so far down on the chain of things Jester had to handle right now, and Beau refused to add anymore to the ever growing string winding its way around Jester’s soft throat. She refused to be add to the weight that threatened to choke her.

She needed to tell _someone_ though, apparently. Drunk, angry, and just so damn in love with Jester that it hurt, Beau had turned to the literal worst person, practically tore her beating heart out of her chest, and handed it to Nott without a second thought. And now her heart was sitting in Nott’s pocket, Fjord and Jester none the wiser to the secrets she held, the secrets Beau had just handed to her.

She ran her hands through her hair, grabbed at the greasy strands, and pulled until the pain brought her out of her anxiety spiral long enough to take a drink and go back to staring at the bar.

_I shouldn’t’ve ever said anything…_

After today, Beau was never drinking with Nott ever again.

Behind her, she heard a familiar sniffling (and wasn’t _that_ sad, how attuned Beau was to every sound she made?), and Beau barely glanced over her shoulder.

She saw Nott, sitting beside Jester and patting her hand consolingly. She was saying something Beau couldn’t make out, but whatever it was had Fjord, who was standing behind Jester with a hand on her shoulder, rolling his eyes. He murmured something to Jester, something low and probably something sweet that had Beau’s insides twisting in a way she hated, before moving on to talk to someone else. Probably Caduceus. But he’s not what Beau was paying attention to. No, her eyes were on Jester, who throughout it all hadn’t moved. Her shoulders were high, her ears drooping lower than they had ever been, and her eyes fixed firmly on where her nail was gradually digging a hole in the table. Whatever Nott was saying seemed to go around her hunched form; Jester barely moved, barely acknowledged that her friends were around her at all.

And it broke Beau’s heart.

She knew Jester’s joy, her playfulness and her almost overwhelming energy, was mostly a front against a something squirming and hateful in Jester’s chest. Something that chipped away at that front bit by bit. Like Jester’s nail, it’d break through soon, and what defense would she have left. What could she do but let it wash over her, let it consume her entirely, leaving a broken thing in the shape of Jester in her place?

Beau knew what that felt like, to be hollowed out and made home to something bitter and acidic. To be torn apart and remade into something that only knew anger. Now, on the other side of that Beau, she memories were ice and pain and something Beau really didn’t want to remember fully or ever experience again.

So Beau would be damned to let any of her friends, her family, feel that way.

Drinking her final two shots, Beau pushed herself out of her seat and made her way over to Nott and Jester before she could talk herself out of it. Nott perked up almost immediately, a ghost of a smirk on her face and a gleam in her eye that Beau wanted to slap out of her. Instead, she just pushed Nott out of her chair next to Jester and took her place. She didn’t watch Nott scamper away; she didn’t want to take her eyes off Jester right now.

Or ever again, but she could deal with that later.

It took a few everlasting moments before Jester finally lifted her eyes to meet Beau’s. They were puffy, red-rimmed, and full of such a deeply rooted sadness.

“Hi, Beau,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. She went back to staring at her fingernail as it continued digging up shards of old wood.

“Hey, Jes.”

Carefully, mindful of her own heart and Jester’s fractured glass shell, she scooted her hand closer to the one carving a hole in the table and lopped her pinky around Jester’s.  
Beside her, Jester sighed, falling further into herself, and Beau nearly panicked before Jester said, “Thank you, Beau.”

 _Always,_ Beau did not said. Instead, she moved her hand further, letting it rest fully over the back of Jester’s, and tried not to grin like a fool when Jester flipped her hand so they were palm to palm, fingers interlacing. And when Beau scooted her chair closer, close enough to feel Jester’s sleeve brushing against her with each inhale, Jester pressed her cheek into Beau’s shoulder without hesitation.

“Did I do something wrong, Beau? Is that why my d- why The Gentleman hates me?”

“Hey, hey, he doesn’t hate you, Jes. He just.. uh…”

What could Beau say to make this weird situation make even some sense? She didn’t know the Gentleman, didn’t even know if he was actually Jester’s father even if she was almost positive. And while Beau knew shitty dads well, the Gentleman wasn’t a dad. He was just some dude Jester happened to be related to, and did that really mean anything at the end of the day? Beau didn’t think so, but she bit her tongue against the vitriol she wanted to spew at the Gentleman for making Jester cry. It wouldn’t help right now or maybe not at all; she wasn’t so oblivious that she couldn’t see that Jester, despite everything, still cared about him in some way. Still wanted that ending for her family she had dreamed about since she was a child.

Whether or not she would get it, Beau didn’t know and didn’t think she would ever know enough to decide. What she did know was that she was here, Jester was here, and she wanted nothing more than to wipe those fresh tears from Jester’s face.

“I don’t think he hates you, but I don’t think he knows what he’s feeling right now.”

“You think he’d be happy, right?” Jester asked between sniffles. “Like he still totally loves my mom - you saw his face! - so why can’t he just admit it?”

“I don’t know.” Beau wrapped her arm around Jester’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“I’m not sorry about how he reacted,” she told her. “I’m sorry that he hurt you. You deserve better than that.”

Jester didn’t respond. She just buried her face into Beau’s shoulders and shook with barely repressed sobs.

And Beau let her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took... much longer than I intended it to for such a short chapter, and I'm so sorry. With what's going on in the world and has been going on in my own life, my ability to create has been thoroughly suppressed until this small burst. I want to keep going with this, just to keep my mind off things, but I do not know how regular this will update as I try to get my life in order.
> 
> Despite the tone, I hope you all have someone who will wrap their arms around and just let you cry things out when words aren't enough to convey the tumult in your mind and soul.
> 
> Take care of yourselves and take care of each other.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all started with a ring...

“ _Shit._ ”

Beau jerked back, her project falling soundlessly into her lap. Her hand has slipped and her tool, which she wielded with the grace of a raging goliath, pierced her thumb. She could already see a bead of blood and put her thumb into her mouth as she searched for another bandage. Her fourth in half as many hours. Once she was sure it wouldn’t bleed through - _that_ was a lesson she only had to learn once - Beau picked up her pick and got back to work.

It had been a long time since she had worked with her jeweler’s kit. Too long, judging by how her hands shook. She tucked her elbows in tight, braced her wrists on her knees, and hoped that that would be enough to prevent another accident.

Beau had meant to get back to what she could only begrudgingly call her first trade. With the war over and the Cerberus Assembly cleaned out of the snakes that had populated the shadows of the institution, the Mighty Nein had a lot of free time. And when she wasn’t training, keeping herself in peak physical form, Beau had little else to do except maybe study with Caleb on the rare instances he wasn’t studying with Essek. Thus, the jeweler’s kit that had been ignored at the bottom of her bag. She had pulled it out with the intent of toying with it, resharpening the skills she had let fall by the wayside. Not that she had anything she wanted to do with jewelry, but it was something to do when her hands couldn’t stay still and so Beau had placed it on the table by her bed.

Where it had stayed, untouched, for literal years.

She had kept telling herself she would get to it - ‘ _next time we ave some down time,_ ’ she kept saying - but something always came up.

An assassination attempt on the Bright Queen.

Someone trying to raise an undead god.

Caleb almost losing himself in his attempt to go back in time.

It was one thing after another after another after another, and Beau’s promise had fallen to the wayside. The jeweler’s kit kept gathering dust and the pains of neglect: rusty hinges, fading paint, splintered wood from a restless night where it had been acquainted with Beau’s heel.

There was always something more important.

But that had been before.

Now there was nothing more important. But time never stopped and the rest of the world never stopped being terrible, so Beau had taken a restless night and used to her advantage. Which was why she was sitting by her bed, working by candle- and moonlight and barely able to see what she was scratching into the silver band she held.

Initially, Beau hadn’t considered a ring. It wasn’t really anything except a symbol that could be lost or broken. And Beau had seen something as simple as a lost ring drive a wedge between relationships, even end some in a few cases.

And her parents had had rings. Big, almost gaudy things that were colder for being on her mother’s slim finger, the weight of it keeping it bent in submission like the woman herself. Her father’s was large and unyielding like he was in personality if not in form, all sharp edges meant to cut teeth and break soft skin as you were backhanded across-

_No._

Pausing, Beau let her eyed slide closed, and she took a deep, steadying breath before getting back to work.

She wasn’t going to dwell on that, not now. She knew that pain would never really heal fully; it would always be there, buried most days in the soft touches from her friends that were in endless supply. But some nights, when the day had been a bit too rough and she had been a bit to sharp, the memories liked to surface to feast on the anger.

But today had been good - _great_ , even - and Beau would not let those memories taint one of the few good things she had. And the even better thing she was making for herself.

And it all started with the ring.

She had seen the band in a jeweler’s shop on one of the rare days she got to just _be_. Walk around Rosohna without worrying about intent eyes or a job weighing on her mind. A day where she could wander aimlessly through the capital with her hand in Jester’s, focused only on her girlfriend as she pulled her from shop to shop. And Beau went along happily, content in going anywhere as long as Jester was with her.

It had been towards the end of their day. Jester was leaning against Beau, talking about some subpar cupcakes that she wanted to try and improve on. And oh! Maybe she could try making those cinnamon things with the sweet cheese in the middle; she had found some cinnamon the other day and it reminded her how much she had liked them growing up. And _Beau, would you want to try one when-… Beau, what’re you looking at?_

But Beau’s attention had been drawn to a window and, behind that window, a lush and probably expensive cushion bearing a truly remarkable hand piece. Silver webbing dripping with sapphires and diamonds, it glinted in the muted light of Xhorhas.

Beau wondered what it’d look like against blue skin, under the sunlight of Nicodronas.

Not that Beau bought it. It was, unsurprisingly, worth more than her entire family’s business.

The simple band that had caught her eye on the way out? _That_ was far more affordable. Beau had come back without Jester, chatted with the owner about the _how_ s and the _why_ s, and had left with the ring less than half of what it had been initially priced with and a spring in her step. As soon as she had returned to the Xhorhaus, it had gone under Caleb’s bed for secret safekeeping before she had gone to her own bed and Jester’s waiting arms.

She could admit to herself that it had been a spur of the moment decision, fueled by the soft affection she felt for Jester and a conversation she and Jester had had in bits and pieces throughout the years that never really fit quite together.

Jester wanted a family one day: kids, a dog (‘ _Or three!’_ She had shouted, flinging her arm so wide it, and the frosting covered spoon it carried, smacked Beau in the face.), everything her fantasy had created and her reality had lacked. She had had her mom and loved her so much, Jester had been quick to remind Beau, but the Lavish Chateau had been so lonely by herself. If she ever had kids, she never wanted them to feel like that.

Beau had never really considered living long enough to make a family of her own, and she never thought she’d ever _want_ that. She still wasn’t sure. But she had a family with the Mighty Nein, better than anything she could have conjured up herself; and Beau knew she’d make anything with Jester and do her damn best to make sure it thrived. A job, an idea, maybe even a family.

Jester wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to retire. There was so much of the world to see, and she had only seen a piece of it. She wanted to see everything, experience everything, indulge in all the world had to offer. And if she ever got to have children, she wanted them to see it too.

Beau, deep in her heart even if she would never say it out loud, wanted to settle down one day. Not one day soon, mind you. There was still a lot she had to do, but if she started taking less life-threatening jobs and started spending more time at the Cobalt Soul with students that had the same gleam in their eyes she knew had been in hers so many years ago… well, she wasn’t going to complain. But that was far, _far_ in the future.

(That didn’t stop her from thinking of contacting Odina, a hundred questions on her mind).

Jester didn’t really care what happened as long as Beau was with her.

On that, Beau could agree. If there was one thing she had ever really wanted, it was Jester, by her side, facing down whatever life had to throw their way.

Together.

Gods, when had she gotten so damn sappy?

Beau lowered the ring into her lap and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. She leaned back against the bed and took another deep breath, this time to soothe the swell of warmth, of unbridled joy, within her.

She loved Jester. Had loved her for a while and time hadn’t cooled it in the slightest. If anything, it had refined it, taking Beau’s raw passion and sanding and smoothing and cutting so it could meet Jester where she was. The bits of her that had balked at a romantic relationship, had seen _commitment_ and _promises_ and shriveled up in feat, were scattered around her feet; and in her hand remained a love that gave and took in equal measure. It wasn’t perfect, would never be, but it would be better with each passing day, with each new tidbit she learned about Jester and how she loved, with each realization about how Beau herself loved and received love in return.

It was beautiful, it could be better, and Beau cherished both what was and what would be.

Dropping her hand, she went back to work, painstakingly working the final bits into the inside of the band. She may not be an artist, but Beau could definitely be creative when the time called.

It was almost dawn - or Xhorhas’ equivalent of - when she dropped her tools for the last time, held the ring up to the brightening light, and whooped so loudly that Caleb nearly fell off his bed behind her.

“ _Vas?_ Beau, what’s-”

“Look!” Beau shoved the ring into his face, nearly punching him in the process.

It was a simple thing, the band. Plain silver except where Beau had etched a beautiful swirling pattern on the inside of the band. She’d line those etches with some of Jester’s magic paint. Not the one that made things reality, but the golden one that shifted and danced once it had been brushed on. And the shimmering, golden paint eagerly followed along in the dips and swells of Beau’s design. The outside of the band shined like mithril, so pale it was nearly white in the dim light, and Beau had taken the liberty to carve and smooth out gentle waves along its edges. But what really tied it all together was the jewel resting on its pedestal.

It shined with its own light, casting a multicolored glow on Beau’s and Caleb’s faces. They, the Mighy Nein that is, had found a trove of the crystal during a job for Professor Tuss Waccoh. Beau remembered how her jaw had dropped at the sight of it, coming out of a dingy and damp tunnel into a cavern that outshone any ballroom Beau had danced through. But what she remembered more was how she had turned to Jester, a question on her tongue-

And choked on her words at the sight of her girlfriend, lit up with a rainbow glow that came from all around them.

Jester had turned to her and smiled, and Beau had fallen in love all over again as Jester bounded forward and picked up a gem. In her hands, it had seemed to glow brighter, feeding off the happiness Jester carried with her.

Beau remembered drawing her close, kissing her sweetly, plucking the crystal from her hand and tucking it into her pocket for Jester could wrap her arms around Beau.

It hadn’t been the time for it. They were on a job.

Beau didn’t care.

“Pretty,” Caleb said, drawing her back to the present.

“Yeah, obviously, dude, but do you think she’ll like it?”

Caleb looked up at her with such a softness in his eyes that Beau wanted to hit him. “Beauregard, she’ll love it.”

\------

Beau paced the length of her room, her hands tucked firmly behind her back to keep from pulling her hair out or from throwing something across the room. Like the small, velvet-lined wooden box in her pocket.

Jester and Fjord had gone to run errands, left before Beau woke up even though she had the memory of Jester pressing a kiss to her cheek, her nose,her lips before skipping from the room, and promised to be back ‘soon.’ Which had given Beau just enough time to wake up, work out, eat, change and send herself into a spiraling panic that had her practically running from room to room to soothe the anxiety. It hadn’t helped, especially with Yasha grabbing her shoulders and forcing out of Beau why she was so fidgety in the first place.

After that, Yasha had let her go with little more than a ‘good luck.’

And Beau had gone back to her not-quite-a-jog until it led her back to her room, wearing down a track in the stone. At some point Frumpkin had joined her, purring contently from where he was sprawled over her pillow.

“Maybe I’m jumping into this too soon,” she muttered to herself. “I mean, Jester and I talked about it enough and she’s like vaguely mentioned it but what if I read it all wrong? What if she doesn’t want to? What if she’s just okay with how things are now?”

 _What if she doesn’t love me anymore?_ Beau let herself entertain the thought for a second before shoving it deep into the hole previously reserved for memories of her parents.

“Not that I’m not happy with what we have.” She turned on the ball of her foot and started striding back towards the window. “I’m-.. it’s-… this is the happiest I’ve ever been really, and I don’t want to mess that up. Which makes sense and is a totally justified reason to hide the ring back under Caleb’s bed and never think about it again, right? Right?”

She turned to Frumpkin, hair a mess and eyes wide. Frumpkin looked up at her, yawned, and went back to his nap.

“Right! So I can just wait. I can do that. I _should_ do that.”

_But I really don’t want to._

Beau knew it was nerves getting to her; that didn’t stop her from thinking of everything about her that made her abrasive, hard to get along with, difficult to understand, and so many other things she had heard about herself over the years. They were all true, but Beau had been trying so hard to be better than that, to take the negative aspects of herself and turn them around. Find the good in them and bring them forward. And Beau thought she was doing a pretty good job!

There was always that little voice though, wasn’t there? Telling her that ‘pretty good’ had never been good enough, never would be.

That voice was harder to fight back. She’d fight it anyway, because that’s what she did. She’d fought immortal assassins, undead gods, two dragons, and had come out on top every time. Her own mind couldn’t be that hard.

“I’m gonna do it,” she decided on. “And if Jester says no… I’ll respect that. I just want her with me, and I’ll take any way she’s comfortable with.

“That sounds like a good idea, right?”

“What does?”

Beau jumped and spun around to find Jester, windswept and grinning,

\- new scarf around her neck that shifted through shades of green with the slightest movement,

\- cheeks flushed with the biting cold of Rosohna’s winter

\- eyes aglow with joy and excitement and _love_

 _-_ beautiful, not-perfect-but-that’s-okay Jester, standing in the doorway with her head tilted to the side and a little fang pointing out as her smiled widened.

Beau went breathless at the sight, like she had every day since she and Jester had found each other at the other end of a soulbond Beau hadn’t even wanted. “Hey, Jes.”

Jester stepped into Beau’s waiting arms and propped her chin on her girlfriend’s collarbone so she could look Beau in the eye when she asked, “What sounds like a good idea, Beau?”

She took a moment to look down at Jester, take in the soft and carefree expression on her face. Her freckles had started to dim with how long they had been in Rosohna, and Beau wondered if they could take a trip to Nicodranas soon. There was a scar lightly puckering the corner of her lip and another vanishing into her hairline. Her curls had gotten longer, long enough for Beau to rest her hand on Jester’s shoulder and tangle her fingers in those soft blue locks. Her clothes were a little more worn, the jewelry on her horns in need of a thorough cleaning, and her new goggle glasses were dented in some places. She was weathered and rough in some places, softer in others, and a far cry from the girl she had met in a tavern on the road to Rexxentrum. Yet she still looked up at Beau like she was the greatest person Jester had ever seen.

And that, more than anything, made Beau’s decision for her.

Shoving her hand into her pocket, she gripped the box hard, letting the wood dig into her skin.

“Hey, Jes?”

“Yes, Beau?”

“I’ve got a question to ask you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was based off a post I can't find anymore about Beau making Jester an engagement ring using her jeweler's kit and it was so soft and cute that I had to write this. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! And I hope you liked it! If you have any ideas for a one-shot you'd like to see, feel free to add it in a comment.


End file.
